


Where Dreams Dare Not Tread

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Fingolfin [19]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:48:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are dreams, and there are dreams. Feanor realizes the truth when he is captured in a web of dreams, prophetic and ugly, and he is drained of will and life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Dreams Dare Not Tread

“Come back before the mingling of the lights,” Father called out after me as I rushed to the door, my boots around my neck.

“Certainly!” I shouted. “I am late! I shall speak to you later.”

“Try not to-” 

The rest of his words were lost to the wind, for I had already banged the door behind me and was running down the street. I rushed through the crowded marketplace, caring little for the large wagons of merchandise that traders had brought in from Alqualondë. Usually, I would have taken the time to wander idly through the throng, since I was always on the lookout for new things and contraptions. But not this day; I was late and nothing else mattered.

I reached my destination. The quaint, cobbled path leading to the large wooden door was empty. Had they begun? Cursing, I rushed breathlessly to the door and rapped the knocker anxiously, hoping against hope that I was not too late. 

The door opened a crack and a pair of brown eyes scrutinized my panting, disheveled form in apparent distaste. 

“Has Lord Mahtan started?” I asked worriedly. 

“Are you a courier from Tirion?” the girl asked in a superior tone, her gaze condescending and arrogant. “You may wait outside. Father will receive you later.”

“No!” I placed one of my feet in the wedge as she began closing the door. “I am to be his student from today.”

“Student?” She opened the door a crack more and frowned upon me. “Why do you have your boots about your neck?”

“I was late,” I explained hastily, taking off the boots from their perch and wearing them. “I took a shortcut across a stream to reach here. I didn’t want to get my boots wet.”

“I see.” She opened the door completely and peered at me as if I were an exotic specimen from across the sea. I was used to this particular gaze. So I bore it with good grace and took the opportunity to study her. 

She was not beautiful. My mother’s portrait that adorned my father’s chamber wall was beautiful. 

“Oh!” she murmured in surprise as recognition flitted into her dark, brown eyes. “The son of Noldoran!” She gasped and rushed into the house.

I pinched my nose and waited patiently. I knew this would happen. They would always weigh me by my legacy. One day, I promised myself, I would be known for what I was. People would call Finwë ‘the father of Fëanáro’ instead of addressing me as his son. I would make my name in the world.

She returned, trailing a frank-faced, copper-haired man whom I knew to be Mahtan. Aule had recommended him as an excellent tutor who could further my studies in science. I smiled nervously at him and executed a bow. 

“Come in, prince!” He seemed equally nervous.

“Fëanáro,” I insisted. He was to be my teacher. I would not have him calling me by title. 

He nodded uncertainly and gestured me into the house. His daughter was still staring at me, her nose crinkled in disapproval on seeing my uncombed hair. I smiled at her. I knew I would like it here. I would have a wonderful time upturning their household with my unconventional ways and whims. 

Thus it was that the plague of Fëanáro was unleashed upon the house of Mahtan. 

 

“Fëanáro?” Mahtan entered the forge and picked his way gingerly through the exploded debris of my latest failed experiment. “May I have a word with you?”

“Of course.” I waved him in distractedly, my concentration focused on the retort which would yield blue precipitate. Copper, I decided. It was copper that made blue crystals. 

“Aule has come with one of his peers. He wishes to present you to the person.”

I glared up at Mahtan and said, “As soon as I am finished here, I shall come.”

“But Aule-”

“Aule shall understand the craftsman’s need to be devoted to his craft,” I said absently, returning to my chemical analysis. “He is of our ilk, after all.”

Mahtan did not press me further. He knew well that I could not be swayed. With a long-suffering sigh, he left the chamber, closing the door behind him softly. I returned to my experiment without the slightest twinge of conscience at having made Aule and his illustrious friend wait.

“Such devotion!” A low, silken voice exclaimed as the door swung open again.

Irritated by the presumptuous interruption, I turned to face the newcomer. I had seen him a few times during the festivals in Tirion and Valmar. 

“Lord Melkor,” I said, without bothering to rise and greet him. He had disturbed my work without my permission. If there was something that irked me more than interruptions, that was presuming liberties. 

“Young Fëanáro who tries so desperately to prove that he is the best of us all,” he laughed softly, a subtle trace of jealousy colouring his tone.

I could not be lied to. I had the ability to discern the truth in people. And I was the most arrogant prince who ever stood in shoe-leather. 

“If you accept that I am your better in this craft, then I stand flattered,” I said quietly, relishing the fine shade of dark colour that marred his features. He smoothed his face back into nonchalant indulgence and offered me a conciliatory smile.

I had no need for his pretences. Melkor mattered nothing to me or my designs for the future. So I said sharply, “What is your errand with me, lord?”

“Nothing, prince,” he said gravely, all traces of pretense vanishing from his eyes. “Nothing yet.”

That was my first meeting with Melkor. I knew it would not be the last. But I did not care. I was young, I was loved and I was brilliant. Nothing else mattered. 

 

“Lady,” I called after my step-mother as she turned to enter the wing which housed her and her servants.

“Yes?” she stopped and waited for me to reach her. She knew me well by now. In those early awkward days, she would have tried to meet me half-way. I abhorred the idea of making women walk when I was blessed with perfectly functional legs. 

“I needed your advice on something.” I fumbled over the words, since it was so rare that I found myself in a quandary I could not solve. 

“Is it about Nerdanel?” she smiled, her blue eyes sparkling in the light of Tyelperion.

I grinned and ran my fingers through my hair. She laughed; her low, throaty voice a melodious wave that lushly added to the chirping of the birds without. 

“What is it?” 

Father came to join us in the corridor, his eyes betraying his insatiable curiosity. He was a very curious person. Of his sons, only Nolofinwë had inherited the trait in entirety. For myself, I care less about others than I ought to. 

“Perhaps you should send the criers out,” Indis suggested, her teasing words doing nothing to help me recover my composure which had all but fled at the mention of Nerdanel’s name.

“Why would I do that?” Father asked, perplexity colouring his eyes dark. 

“It is Nerdanel,” I blurted out. “I want to marry her.”

Father stood stunned, his jaw slack and his lips partly open. Unfairly, I could not resist comparing him to the foolish fish my step-mother insisted upon having in the place in beautiful jars. 

“I think it is the most pleasant tiding I have heard in a long time,” Indis said simply, coming to embrace me. 

She loved me as she loved her sons. It made me always feel guilty. Those in town spoke of my cold-shouldering of my step-family. I did not treat them as inferiors. I don’t think I would have treated them any differently even if they were entirely of my blood. To me, my work would always come first. 

Initially, Indis and I had a carefully orchestrated relationship. She loved my father and would do nothing to upset him. The same rang true for my motives. We did all that we could to establish harmony in the family. But once Nolofinwë had become my go-between with Indis, things had improved considerably. He was a treasure and I am sure I did never deserve him as my brother. He cared about the family. Perhaps he had inherited the trait from Indis. 

“I am very glad that you think well of my choice,” I said to Indis as I embraced her in return. “It means a lot, lady.”

Father cleared his throat. It always irked him that I addressed her by title. She called me by my father-name. It was easier. I could not bear the thought of my father’s wife calling me by a name my mother had given me in her last breath. 

“Father?” 

“I am very happy, of course,” he said, pulling me into a rib-cracking hug. “I do wish that you had chosen someone more refined though.”

He cared about refinement and appearances. Arafinwë was of the same mould. For my part, I did not care at all. Nerdanel knew me. Nerdanel understood my failings and my virtues. That was enough. 

“Finwë,” Indis remonstrated gently. Not for the first time, I was glad that she had married him. Her influence on him was more beneficial than otherwise. 

“I shall meet Lord Mahtan,” he chuckled. “Far be it from me to oppose the majority.”

I laughed and held onto him. Despite the fact that I was old enough to make my way in the world, without any of my father’s influence playing a part in my progress, I had chosen not to leave his home. A conscious choice, with motives differing vastly from the populace’s opinion that I was clinging to my inheritance. I loved my father. I had shown that I was more than merely his son. I did not need to establish a different household away from him to prove myself again.

 

It was decided that I would accompany Indis and my father to Valmar. Indis was an ardent believer in the goodness of the Valar. I had heard rumours of my mother being a mild atheist. But none spoke ill of the dead and I did never know till the end about her degree of faith. As for myself, I cared little about anything outside of my work. 

If the Valar were benevolent, I was glad. If they were not, it did not affect me anyway. 

“A very handsome son have you been blessed with,” Ingwë said when I was presented in his court.

I had been there many a time, often on errands for my father. But I would always be clad in what I saw fit. Apparently what I saw fit and what Ingwë deemed proper were different things. Indis had taken great pains with my attire that day. From the brazenly flattering glances I drew in that august court, I decided that she knew more about courtly attires than I did. 

Clothes make the man, only amongst the Eldar. I felt irritated. Why did we have to decorate ourselves in such finery merely to impress others? A splendid waste of precious time. 

Father took me to Tanequetil, for he wished to invite Manwë for the wedding. Frankly, I was not looking forward to the spectacle that my people would turn my marriage into. If I had my way, I would have been content with just taking Nerdanel to bed and ending the matter there. But I was a prince, as Father delighted in reminding me ever so often. The only saving grace about my wedding was that Nolofinwë’s coming of age would also be marked on the same day. Perhaps he would spare me the brunt of attention. No, it would not happen. I was the son of Míriel. He was not. 

“Lord Fëanáro,” a melodious voice addressed me. I looked up from my intent study of the flooring pattern and saw a very graceful woman. She was not the most beautiful woman I had seen, though. My mother would always be the most graceful woman; the woman with the sparkling grey eyes who lived in my father’s mind. 

“Varda,” my father bowed to her deeply in obeisance. His infatuation for Indis had resulted in an infatuation for all things Vanyarin, including a profound respect for the Valar. Had he been an atheist when my mother had been alive?

“Lady Varda,” I said simply, neither bowing nor deigning to offer my hand. 

She was a Vala. She was not Eru. I did not see the need to abase myself before her. 

“I have often wondered about your son,” she said to my father. “He is a credit to you, I must say.”

“He is a treasure,” my father said simply, making my heart swell impossibly at that statement. 

“I would speak with you alone, Finwë” Varda said. 

“I shall take a turn in the gardens,” I said politely.

Varda smiled at me and my father nodded. I whistled a soft tune I had learnt from Nerdanel and made my way into the gardens. Nightingales flitted over the rose bushes, their melodious songs reminding me of the tales my father had told me about Melyanna. Why did she choose to leave Valinor and embrace an existence in the East? What did those lands offer that Aman could not? 

“Power,” whispered a male voice, oozing with the said emotion.

It was not often that someone could unsettle me. I had not feared elders, Maiar or Valar. But instinct coiled unpleasantly in my mind when I heard the voice. I stood benumbed, my limbs strangely useless. 

“I care not for power,” I said. “It is evil.”

“So are you taught. It is merely because your race deserves no more than the yoke,” said the voice.

I did not reply. His words made sense, in a strange manner. We were under the yoke of the Valar. But it was a yoke chosen consciously. I had no argument with the concept. 

“Freedom.”

The nightingales stopped chirping and the wind ceased playing with my hair. Tendrils of dark sensation caressed my skin, and my mind. I shuddered and tried to step away, only to be pulled back into the hard embrace of one infinitely stronger than I ever could be. 

“Freedom is an abstract phenomenon that exists only in the mind,” I reasoned.

My voice had sounded never as shaken as it did then. I was not proud of it. But under the circumstances, I had spoken as boldly as I could. Oppression; the impact of a mind stronger than mine as it wound its snare over my thoughts, pulling me with it into that abyss of darkness. 

“Let me go,” I whispered. Fear was an alien emotion to me. But I recognized it immediately. For the first time in my life, I was frightened. 

There was no reply, but for the cruel tightening of those invisible chains about my conscious. Dimly, I realized that I could not stir a limb, encompassed as I was in bands stronger than the forge iron. Panic availed me nothing. Slow plunder of my frightened mind, with such exquisite patience that I knew I would be broken again and again ere I ever woke up to the light of Tyelperion again.

“Beg,” the voice advised.

“Please,” I rasped immediately, wanting the excruciating pain to end somehow. I thought of my father, I thought of Indis, I thought of Varda. For the first time in my life, I prayed to the Valar. I was in their courtyard and I was being killed slowly. 

“Again.” The pain was unendurable. Fire blazed within me, trying to melt away those metal bonds that ensnared my mind. I failed, again and again. 

“Let me go. Please. Whoever you are, I beg you, let me go.” 

I had never begged anyone before that day. The voice seemed to be aware of the fact, for cold laughter was the only response. I did not know where the pain began and the awareness dulled into bleak nothing. My mind was broken into shreds so torn that I knew I would never be the same again.

Perhaps he wanted to destroy me. To render me insane? I shuddered and gathered the last of my mental fortitude. He would not turn me mad. If he were to win, and he would win, I knew, death would be the only triumph I granted him. 

Grey eyes, ever so warm and wise; I sighed and let go, knowing that beyond the vague space, I would be safe. I would be always safe with her. I thought of Nerdanel, whom I loved so. I thought of my father. 

“Afraid to die?” the voice taunted me. “Or perhaps afraid to live?”

“Míriel!” I screamed, imploring my mother to gather me to her. 

 

I woke to see blue, worried eyes gazing down upon me with such profound sadness that I felt immeasurably guilty at having inspired that emotion in those clear pools. 

“Fëanáro!” she exclaimed and bent over to press a kiss to my forehead. 

She had never done it before. The novelty of her greeting as well the fact that I felt like the world’s worst dullard combined to render me silent. 

“I shall send for your Father,” she whispered, looking very, very worn out. 

“No,” I said decisively. “I shall recover. Please don’t worry him over such trifles.”

She looked aghast and began to say something. But she stopped, her words unvoiced. I did not broach the matter, for I feared what it would lead to. 

Finally she said, “I am glad that the Valar willed I find you then. I couldn’t have forgiven myself if I had been late.”

“The Valar are manipulative,” I said bitterly. “It happened before their eyes in their courtyard. Of what happened, I shall not speak. But tell me, who was it?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly, leaning in to brush a strand of hair away from my face. “I heard you calling for her… and rushed to the spot, to…”

“I am glad that you came,” I said simply. “If not, things would have taken a harsher course.”

“I consider you my son,” she said. “But I understand that you cannot accept me as even a step-mother.”

“I cannot tell you how grateful I am, Indis.” I took her hand in my own and brought it to my lips. “You are the only mother I have known. She is the only mother I can love.”

Indis nodded and replied to the unasked question, “Nobody knows. Nobody shall know.” 

 

My marriage was bliss. Nerdanel shared most of my esoteric inclinations and saw no qualms in indulging my whims and fancies. She was delightfully unconventional and unrefined. With her, I could always be what I was, neither more nor less. It was a relief. I always tried to be more than I was when with my father. With my brothers, I tried to be less. 

“It is time!” One of my aides rushed into the forge despite my strict injunctions regarding privacy during work. 

I forgave him though; his errand was one of supreme importance. I rushed into the mansion, only to find Nolofinwë pacing outside the chamber. 

“It is a son, brother,” he said joyously. I ran to embrace him, for so giddy was I. The screams of a newborn rent the air and I laughed in wonder at the life we had created. 

Father came out carrying a swathed bundle. Ten white, wiggling toes protruded out from the clothes. Reverently, I moved to take the child into my arms. The greyest pair of eyes I had ever seen in life stared up at me. Those eyes had wisdom and determination; the eyes that sparkled within the portrait in my father’s chamber; the eyes of Míriel, the Broideress.

The eyes bothered Indis. To be fair, she had never begrudged Míriel’s place in my father’s heart. But fate had played a cruel trick in bestowing Míriel’s eyes when it could have granted the dark eyes that was my legacy or the brown pools of my wife. The eyes bothered me too.

I took to my wandering again, Nerdanel accompanying me. Nolofinwë was my son’s guardian. The years passed and our family grew.

 

I passed a trembling hand over my brow as I sought to compose myself. It had been terrible, sinful and addictive. Never with Nerdanel had I felt such bliss. 

“Fëanáro.” 

It was Indis. Never before had she stepped inside my forge. Except for the one single time in Valmar when she had called me by my mother-name, we had always respected our boundaries. I turned to face her, wishing desperately that my features betrayed nothing of what had transpired.

“Míriel’s son shall not fear love,” she said quietly, coming to stand beside me. I inhaled deeply of the sweet scent which always characterized her. Such contrast it formed to the dangerously musky essence of my brother, her son. 

“Indis,” I cleared my throat and failed at words. 

Her fingers closed over mine and we stood before the forge fire for a long moment. Then I whispered, “I love Nerdanel.”

“Yes,” she said. “But you need my son more.”

“I cannot allow that!” I said, aghast at what she implied. “It was a mistake. I shall apologize to him. I shall confess to Nerdanel. But I cannot do more.”

“It gives me no consolation to see my sons pretending as if their passion lay elsewhere. Seven children have you sired by Nerdanel. Did you achieve a measure of satisfaction in that relationship yet?”

“Once I have a daughter,” I began brokenly, knowing that I was simply creating a lie out of nothing. 

“You need my son.” That was all she said. 

“Why?” I demanded furiously, turning to meet her calm gaze with my disturbed one.

“Because much has been set in motion by those who rule. You need an anchor if you are to make through the trial.”

“I cannot use him!”

“Often, to be used is the greatest gift,” she said, her eyes sparkling with an emotion so hallowed that I wished my father would finally stop mourning the woman with grey eyes and come to love Indis. But it would not happen. Balance did not occur in anything except the exact sciences.

 

Indis was right. I needed Nolofinwë. During those days I worked with Melkor to capture light, I would not have retained my sanity if not for my brother. Knowing that I would return to him after the trials in the forge sufficed to help me endure. 

Then happened the charade in my father’s court, so carefully orchestrated by my firstborn son. Nolofinwë and I managed to keep our private lives a secret, but I was forced to choose exile. Before that, I hastened to Mahtan’s house. 

I remembered the first time I had gone there. I had been young, brilliant and loved. Now I was older, wiser and torn between duty and desire. 

“Fëanáro!” Nerdanel’s voice held warm surprise when I barged into her work chamber, as I often had. In earlier times, I would have rushed to hold her and kiss her thoroughly. 

“I am leaving for Formenos,” I said quietly.

“Maitimo told me.” She neared and scrutinized my appearance. “Did you take a short-cut?”

“I did,” I replied. “Why?”

“Your boots are wet,” she remarked. “Things move in circles, do they not?”

“I am sorry,” I whispered, wishing that I could simply return to the heady days of young love and reckless courtship. 

“I am equally sorry,” she said, her calm not breaking in the least. I was filled with admiration for her composure. “But I know that if anyone can help you, it shall be only your brother. I wish I had been there to dissuade you from your folly with Melkor. It shall always weigh on my conscience.”

“Be well,” I told her. “I shall always love you.”

“As shall I love you,” she nodded soberly. “Would you send the twins to me? They are yet young.”

“I would, but they are adamant on coming to Formenos. The game there is plenty and you know how excited they are when on the hunt.”

“I fear--” she shook her head and graced me with a soft smile. “Be well.”

 

“Come with me!” I tugged a long, nightshirt clad leg out of its cosy cocoon within the bed sheets. “I must show you something.”

“Begone!” he hissed. “I am trying to sleep.”

I rushed over to the amphora of water and delightfully poured the contents onto his face, laughing as he squealed and shot to his feet. 

“Father!” he cursed and blinked his sleepy, grey eyes at me. “What is it that cannot wait?”

“Come,” I commanded him. He sighed and complied, throwing a dark glare at me as he did so. I led him to the forge and dragged him to the sight I wanted to show him.

“Varda!” he exclaimed as he bent over the workdesk, peering disbelievingly at the magnificent jewel I had crystallized from charcoal with much effort. It flamed red in the faint light of Laurelin that peeped through the latticed windows. “What is it?”

“I thought I would craft it into Nolofinwë’s sword,” I stumbled over the words. My son straightened and met my eyes, understanding and faint amusement lingering within his grey ones. 

“Nolofinwë shall appreciate the gift,” he said sincerely. “I am awed by your talent, father. When I feel more awake, I shall tell you how skilled you are. For now, may I return to bed?”

“Change your clothes,” I advised as I followed him out of the forge and locked the door behind us. “They are wet.”

“And whose fault would that be?” he asked evenly, linking his arm through mine. 

I was never a good father to him. But he had always forgiven my faults. Life had blessed me in many ways and one of them was this gift Nerdanel had given me. 

“That you masturbate in bed is not my fault,” I teased him, delighting in the sudden seep of red that adorned his cheekbones.

“Don’t!” he hissed and fought to regain his composure. “The very idea of thinking of Telpilótë and touching myself is repulsive!”

“Maybe it was Findekáno,” I jested. If my son actually dared enter a relationship with Findekáno, I would disinherit him without qualm. He should marry a woman of high lineage and carry on my father’s legacy. 

“Indeed,” he responded with an elegant roll of his eyes. “Now I am returning to bed and continuing my fantasies. Pray, desist from further antics while I am asleep. Or if you must, drag Macalaurë or one of the others to keep you company.”

“Russandol!” Macalaurë’s voice was molten gold. If sounds had colours, his would have been the shade of Laurelin. 

“I am returning to bed,” Maitimo muttered as Macalaurë joined us, looking as impeccably unapproachable as ever with his dark robes and enigmatic manner. They said that he took after me. I cannot, for the life of me, remember a day when I looked half as arrogant as he does. 

“Why are you drenched?” Macalaurë asked concernedly, his black gaze sweeping almost proprietarily over Maitimo’s sodden nightshirt that clung to his lithe body flatteringly accentuating each line and curve underneath.

“Later,” Maitimo said and swooped down to kiss his brother chastely on the forehead before rushing away to his bedchamber. 

“Why did you awaken him from the rest he needs so desperately?” Macalaurë asked me irritably, his eyes flashing in suppressed anger.

“You don’t own him, you know,” I told him acerbically. “He is my son.”

“He may be,” he shrugged, the gesture so indolently arrogant that I wondered from whom he had inherited it from. “But he is mine, all the same.”

The last few words made me choke on a jesting reply I had composed. I stared at him, revelation pounding within my blood. The fearless black eyes that met my own with a strange tinge of defiance concealed nothing.

“By Eru!” I cursed and grabbed his thin forearms. “Don’t you dare! He is your brother!”

“You needn’t worry.” He wrested his arms away from my grip. “I know him well enough to understand what shall ensue if I dared.”

He turned on his heel and left the mansion, leaving me to wonder benumbed what strange curse plagued my family. It was devastating enough to accept the state of relations between Nolofinwë and I. But before I had even come to terms with it, Macalaurë had seen it fit to spring this cruel realization upon me. 

I would never, ever tell Nerdanel about this sordid secret. She deserved better.

 

I was riding to Tirion, cloaked and armed. My fingers trembled as they grasped the reins of my horse. Beside me, Maitimo was in indecently high spirits as he spoke of Telpilótë’s engagement to one of my apprentices.

“She cost me a good worker,” I complained.

“Better a worker than your firstborn?” he offered, his eyes twinkling in amusement. 

“What makes you think I value you so?” I muttered with a roll of my eyes.

“I know my worth,” he laughed. “Am I not a trading coin for the alliance with Valmar? I saw Ingwë’s granddaughter. She is a beautiful woman.”

“I hadn’t known that you shared my father’s obsession for the Vanyar,” I said incredulously. He seemed solemn enough. But with him, it was incredibly hard to predict his thoughts. Nolofinwë had taught him diplomacy too well.

“I don’t.” He yawned and twisted upon his seat, so that we were face to face, with his position reversed upon his horse. His equestrian skills were alarmingly brilliant and pride swelled within me at the sight of him, lazy and reckless. 

“At your age,” I began mildly.

“You had married and sired.” He shot me an amused glance. “I shall do so only when I fall in love.”

“If you mention Findekáno’s name,” I cautioned, “I shall not be held responsible for what shall ensue.”

“Despite the fact that I don’t care to incur your wrath,” he said, “I have no feelings of the sort for Findekáno. I consider it extremely unfair that you would not allow such an union though, when you have found it suitable in your case.” 

“I cannot countenance my sons embracing such a lifestyle,” I said sharply. 

“I thought you didn’t care for laws.”

“I don’t,” I said. “But…well, do you care for laws?”

“That I support your relationship with Nolofinwë should tell you that I am remarkably lax in upholding the law,” he laughed. 

“You believe in the Valar, then?” I asked curiously. Not for the first time, I wondered how little I knew my sons. Had I been so engrossed in my work and my father that I failed to see my sons grow? Maitimo was always courteous and gallant. Perhaps he took after my father in his beliefs.

“I believe in hearts and what they are capable of,” he said thoughtfully. “Do you believe in the Gods?”

I thought of the torture I had undergone in the courtyard of Tanequetil. With a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold wind, I replied softly, “I don’t.”

 

“Stay put here,” Carnistro told me gently. “I shall fetch Maitimo and return.”

I nodded and slumped onto the bed, willing time to revert itself. How had things gone so terribly wrong? 

“You have freed yourself, Fëanáro.”

It was that cruel voice which had never stopped reverberating within my memories. I shuddered and made to get up, only to find myself restrained in limbs and mind. I did not fight the invasion as I had the last time. I simply let myself fall into the darkness, uncaring of the pain and the blinding horror thrust upon my mind. Images of Nolofinwë rose in my mind, of his dear features twisted in fear and agony as he took on an enemy mightier than him, of his prone body being cremated upon a cairn. I screamed and clawed, desperately trying to remember him smiling and jesting with me. 

“You lie,” I said hoarsely and the tendrils of poison ensnared me deeper. 

Maitimo stood alone amidst the carnage, trying in vain to fight off the ugly creatures that dragged him down. I called out to him, screaming that it was only a dream and that he needn’t be so frightened as he looked. But he did not hear me. 

I was sobbing and broken as the images followed each other with such cruel clarity as they showed me visions so frightful that I would have taken the sword to my son’s neck myself rather than dream of letting him endure even one of those things.

“Father!” Strong hands tugged at me, pulling me into a soothing embrace. I broke down entirely, raving insanely about the horrible visions I had had. 

“Hush,” Maitimo said quellingly, his fingers cupping my face, forcing me to meet his clear, grey gaze. “It is nothing. You are safe.”

“But you are not!” I said, panicked. “I must kill you, before all that happens.”

His fingers stilled and he withdrew a fraction, alarm rising in the eyes that had always reminded me of my mother.

“What?” he whispered, truly shaken. “What happened here?”

I shook my head wearily, willing myself to take deeper breaths to restore my composure. Blood stained the bed sheets. Was it my blood, or the blood I had shed? In the narrow doorway stood Macalaurë, apprehension hollowing his gaunt features. 

“Burn the ships.” I pushed myself to my feet and met two pairs of incredulous eyes defiantly. 

“Father?” Maitimo rose to his feet and gently grasped my forearm. “I suggest that you rest awhile and let me see to the rest.”

“Burn the damn ships, will you?” I shouted. I had to save Nolofinwë. It was too late to save my son. But I could still save my brother and the rest. 

“You are not yourself,” Macalaurë said sharply. “Rest. I shall have water sent. Maybe it is the stench of blood that has your spirits flagging.”

I shoved him out of the way and rushed to find my warriors. 

“Burn the ships!”

The cry was taken up and soon torches were lit. I led the act myself, reveling in the fire that lapped hungrily the masterpieces of Telerin craftsmen. 

My brother was safe. 

“Stop this madness!” Maitimo was yelling. “Stop it!”

“Be quiet!” I made my way to him. “If you will not aid me, don’t attempt to stay my hand!”

“You are mad! Nolofinwë-” he did not finish the sentence for I had slapped him.

Never shall I forget the pain, incredulity, dismay and humiliation in those remarkable grey eyes. He drew himself to his full height, his palm pressed flush against the cheek I had assaulted. Before I could apologize, he frigidly nodded to me and strode away, leaving me to my madness. 

Macalaurë gave an overwrought sigh and made to follow his brother. I stayed him with a hand on his shoulder.

“My loyalty was never to you,” he remarked. 

“You swore the oath,” I said quietly. 

“Because he swore it,” he pushed my hand away gently. 

“Keep him safe then,” I whispered, willing him to understand the true reason behind my madness. “Keep him safe.”

“I fear that fate shall not allow me to,” he said hoarsely, his eyes shining in emotion. “Father,” he rarely called me so that I flinched at the term. “Arafinwë would have understood. He is of our blood. You should have confided in him instead of staging that elaborate charade. Then none of this would have happened.”

“It is too late.”

“That, it is.”

 

When we arrayed for battle, I made my way to Maitimo’s tent. I had to see him. Fear prowled within my heart like a beast waiting to be unleashed. I could not forget what I had seen. 

“Nolofinwë shall come,” he said gravely, as he drew on his armour. 

He did not betray the slightest trace of discomposure on seeing me. Not for the first time, I wished I had half his skills in diplomacy. 

“He cannot,” I said. “I shall not let him come.”

“Have you ever thought that your will cannot always prevail?” he scoffed, disdainful anger flashing in his eyes. “If the laws of the gods cannot rule our hearts, then why would a mere craftsman’s whim do so?”

“You will be careful on the battlefield,” I whispered. “Your mother would never forgive me if anything happened.”

“Would you forgive yourself?” he asked me bluntly, his gaze raking my soul to the depths.

“No,” I breathed. “Never.”

“Then my father has returned from wherever he had been for the last few days,” he murmured, coming to embrace me.

His fingers made their probing way to my neck, feeling the slow healing welt there. He sighed and rested his head on my shoulder.

“Who was it?” he asked.

“I wish I knew,” I said sincerely. “It has happened, once before. I don’t know what it was. It would have been merely a dream but for the blood. Did you see anything?”

He shook his head, his unruly hair tickling my neck as he did so. I let my fingers tangle in the profusion of his mane and inhaled deeply of the familiar scent of him. Had my mother been thus, forgiving and compassionate?

 

“Careful, father!” Tyelkormo rushed to my side, his features drawn in fear. “They are creatures of fire. We cannot best them by sword and shield.”

“No fire can conquer Fëanorian steel!” I exclaimed in scorn, raising my blade high. 

“We must wait for Maitimo’s warriors,” he said firmly. “We cannot press on without them. He is the better strategist.”

I thought of the horrible vision I had and shuddered. Damned if I were to let my son come within a mile of these monsters. 

“Ask our warriors to regroup,” I told Tyelkormo, staying upright in my saddle with great effort. 

“I shall!” 

I was left alone, watching uneasily as my sons and commanders pulled back our warriors into fresh formation. Hot brands of pain seized me and I gasped. Blackness wiped off my vision, only to replace it with an image of Nolofinwë grimly leading his people over the Ice. Clutching his hand was young Itarillë, her small form clad in black mourning robes. She shuddered from the cold, tears running down her pale cheeks. Clasped about her was her mother’s cloak. Didn’t Elenwe need it anymore?

“Corpses need nothing,” the voice said softly, purring in my ears even as the pain doubled me. 

“Damn you!” I cursed and felt hands helping me stand upright. Atarinkë, I realized, as my vision slowly focused on the present. 

“What ails you?” he asked worriedly. “Shall I send for Maitimo?”

“No!” I said firmly. “Come. Let us lead our men forth.”

“The fire monsters,” he began.

“I fear them not!” I proclaimed, and my warriors hearkened to me. “We shall take our fight to the cursed coward hiding behind his loathsome servants.”

 

“You should have waited for me to reach you,” Maitimo was saying wearily, guilt shining in his darkened eyes. “I was too late to save your men.”

“Blood shed for a cause is martyrdom,” I wheezed, trying to discern the shadowy shapes of my sons as they gathered around me. 

“Shall I fetch hemlock?” Macalaurë asked quietly. Maitimo’s hand had been on my brow and it flinched at the matter-of-fact tones of my second-born. 

Macalaurë had never been like me. He was braver. Not once had his sword faltered as he had fought beside his brother. He was like Nolofinwë. He would defend till the end what was his. And Maitimo was his. 

“No,” I gasped weakly, raising myself with Carnistro’s support so that I was leaning against him. “It shall not be long now.”

“Don’t speak thus!” Maitimo hissed, emotion breaking his normally refined voice. “Let the healers be the judge of your wounds. Are you so keen to die after barely setting foot on the lands you craved to see?”

Pain seized me again. It was the not the pain of my many wounds. It was something I recognized and feared. My features must have given me away, for Maitimo cursed and gripped my shoulders in a bid to anchor me with him. 

“Sing with me,” Macalaurë said. “He shall not have you again.”

“Macalaurë”, Atarinkë began gently. “You cannot help father.”

Despite Macalaurë’s arrogance and general cold-shouldering of everyone except his elder brother, Atarinkë had always been protectively inclined towards him. I muttered something vaguely couching the fact. Maitimo squeezed my shoulder and brought a cup of wine to my lips, gently coaxing me to drink. 

“Sing.” I licked my parched lips and looked up at Macalaurë. 

Maitimo began to interrupt, but Carnistro shook his head and he fell silent. Before Macalaurë began, I knew instinctively what he would sing of. 

 

“Across the sea, there is a land under the starlit skies,  
Between the shore and the high mountains a placid lake lies.  
‘Twas there that it all began, under the eaves of the woods,  
He met a woman and loved her more than his heart could.

 

I thought of my father. Maitimo’s grey eyes were the sole legacy that Míriel Serindë had left us to remember her by. I drank in the sight of his turmoil-filled gaze. It reminded me of the beautiful woman whose portrait had always occupied the pride of place in my father’s chamber. Had I been the cause for her death, as people whispered behind me? I brought my fingers to my chest and leant heavily against Carnistro.

 

O Lands of the East! O Lands beyond the Sea! What secrets do you hold?  
Would you yield your treasures to souls true and bold?  
We yearn for truth, for freedom and for knowledge unbound.  
We yearn for love so pure and true to yield our hearts bound.

 

Nolofinwë and Nerdanel loved me. I had never deserved their love. My sons had loved me enough to swear a cursed oath for my sake. Perhaps not Macalaurë, whose motives were admittedly different. Nolofinwë still loved me enough to follow me across the Ice, sacrificing lives and hope. He would grow to hate me if he made the journey. It was as well that I would not have to face him.

 

Be at a court, or in a war, or in the face of death, or in a bower  
I shall not lose, nor shall I want, for in my blood is fire!  
Be I alone, be I in peril, be I doomed that I can sink no lower  
I shall not fear, nor shall I cry, for I am a child of Finwë!”

 

“Let go,” Maitimo whispered. “Let go of your life.”

“My sons. My dear, dear sons.”

I opened my eyes with effort and gazed upon them for one final time. The twins were too young. I shuddered to think of what I had done in leading them here. Carnistro would prevail, for he was as Macalaurë, strong in mind. Tyelkormo was a warrior and would not blame the fates for our plight. He would fight till the end. Atarinkë, I placed my hope in him, for he was wise enough to choose for the rest of them. Macalaurë would never give up. He was more resolute than the steel I had forged. 

And my firstborn. For his sake, I prayed that Nolofinwë would make it to these lands. My mother had been cursed. My son bore the brunt of her legacy. I knew he was cursed.

“Let go,” he bent to press a kiss to my brow. 

And I did. The taunting embrace that awaited me was in vain. Thrice in life had the fiend overwhelmed me. I would not give him the pleasure in my death. Atarinkë’s blasphemous exclamation was echoed by Carnistro, for I burned into cinders before their eyes. My soul fled high and free above the sorry spectacle of my sons grieving for me. 

The last words I heard were those of Macalaurë’s.

 

“À tirë! Ustuva anqualëse; ustanë coiviëse.”

 

True, I would burn in death as I had burned in life.

 

4th age.

 

“You fear Manwë,” Mithrandir stated as Galadriel gazed upon the lingering disc of crimson at the crash of the horizon where sea and sun met. 

“I should not,” she said. “I must fear another more.”

Mithrandir frowned and waited for an explanation. A wry smile quirked Galadriel’s lips and she turned to face him, her eyes wise and filled with foreboding. 

“Whom do you fear?” he asked softly.

“Irmo Lórien.” She turned back to watch the sunset, her features drawn in determination. “I fear him. But I shall not let him know that.”

“What say you?” he asked incredulously. “Irmo has ever been the milder of the Fëanturi. He is a tempering influence on Mandos.”

“The realm of dreams I fear more than I fear the realm of death.”

“Galadriel,” Mithrandir said gravely, “Irmo has ever been a friend of the house of Finwë. He has never supported Manwë’s decisions in the matters of your family.”

“He did not need to. What works in the darkness has no need to surface in the light. Manwë is a known enemy. His machinations are not new. I don’t fear him. But Irmo poisons my dreams. He is killing me as he murdered my uncle.”

Mithrandir gasped and pulled her to face him, disbelief colouring his eyes. She said grimly, “Always has he desired that which is beautiful and glorious. Melian broke free and escaped to Middle Earth.” Mithrandir’s eyes shone in rising comprehension. Galadriel continued. “Míriel Serindë fled to Mandos than lingering in Lórien. And my uncle burned to nothing rather than letting Irmo have mastery over his soul. Indis told me once about something that had occurred in Tanequetil. She recognized Irmo then, though she did not tell my uncle so. ”

“Now he wants you,” Mithrandir asked fearfully. 

The sunset washed its radiance over the cursed scion of Finwë and she said carelessly, “He shall not have me unless he agrees to my deal.”

“Galadriel!” he exclaimed. “You cannot parley with Irmo if he is all that you fear him to be.”

“I intend to save my family, Mithrandir, damn the consequences to myself.”

The wizard had nothing to reply. She gave him a condescending smile and walked away to join her husband on the other side of the deck. 

“She plans another deal. I can feel it in my bones,” Glorfindel muttered as he came to stand beside Mithrandir. “I fear her, and I fear for her.”

“To know fear is our domain, for she has none left,” Mithrandir said.

“Mean you that she does not fear, or that she has no reasons left to fear?” Glorfindel raised his eyebrows.

“Never ask her that question, my dear friend.” 

Glofindel sighed and returned to watching the sunset. He could not help being afraid of the deal Galadriel would devise this time. He knew she would stop at nothing. What deal would she propose to the Gods when she had nothing left to offer? He could feel a throbbing headache start. Thinking of Galadriel always made him ill.

“I go to seek my dreams,” he informed his friends and turned to walk towards his cabin.

“Dreams are gifts from the most benevolent of Gods,” Galadriel said, a strange emotion shining in her clear, blue gaze. 

“Well, may you have pleasant dreams too,” he wished her sincerely.

“Ah! But dreams shall not dare tread where I walk, Glorfindel.” 

 

References:

“À tire! Ustuva anqualëse; ustanë coiviëse.” – Watch! He shall burn in death; he burned in life. [Translation not attested yet.]

Fëanor’s dreams - Irmo Lórien - Draw parallel to Thranduil’s nightmares (Sunset) – Glorfindel’s own burden of dreams(Sunset) – Galadriel’s sickness (The Heralds of Dusk, Chapter 2) - Elrond’s visions of Celebrimbor (Sunset, Chapter 7.) – Also Nerdanel’s dreams (Akin to Love) – Maedhros’s visions of which he never spoke to anyone till the end (The Emissary, The Journals). Also the last part of The Journal of Fingolfin where the narrator says:

 

My dreams are haunted by screams, blood and corpses. I see Irissë wandering despairingly in a dark forest, seeking to escape something. I see Turkáno standing with his sword aloft, walls crumbling about him. I see Findekáno riding to battle, and a great shadow falling upon him. I see Russandol standing on the edge of fire, contemplating the flames bitterly. I see Macalaurë standing on a seashore, his face calm and serene. I see Artanis …She is alone, weary and yet, defiant. 

I see Fëanáro, he calls to me, his brilliant black eyes shining with his irresistible fire. 

And I wake up, to find they were but dreams.

Melkor, Irmo Lórien – alliance mentioned in ‘A Curious World’.


End file.
